Beyond the Great River (People of the Longhouse Book 1)

  “This will do.” He watched her long, muddied fingers squashing the leaves, jerking nervously, letting the precious crumbles fall to the ground. “Now drop it into the pot, all of it. Or what is left.”

  A pointed glance at her, then at the foreigner who had just come back carrying another armload of branches, and he busied himself tugging at the wounded’s eyelids, not sure what he was looking for. He had seen the old medicine man doing this when some of the sick were wandering the world of the dreams in such a manner.

  “He is … he is still wandering.” The whites of the man’s eyes stared at him, frightening with their lack of pupils. “I don’t know if he’ll wake up.”

  He felt the silence almost physically, enveloping him, pressing against his back. It was as though he had been left alone here, he and the dying warrior, alone in the entire forest, or maybe the entire world. He straightened up.

  “Keep stirring this thing,” he said curtly, wishing her gaping gaze to be anywhere but on him. “It will be no good if it boils.”

  Would it be any good if it didn’t? he wondered. With no right quantity of sap compared to the amount of water, with the fire changing constantly from too small to too large and back into fading away, would proper stirring save the ointment?

  He felt the questioning gaze of the foreigner upon him. Avoiding it, he just shrugged.

  “Give me that stick.”

  She yielded her improvised spoon, moving back to the warrior’s side readily, as though belonging there. It angered him even further.

  “What do we do?” she asked after a quick exchange of whispers. Why were they whispering as though he could understand what they said if they yelled it at the top of their voices? The wish to throw something at them welled.

  “I don’t know. It’s his decision. I did all I could. Now it’s his time to think.” The contents of the pot were beginning to boil again, so he moved it away from the fire, maneuvering in the way that didn’t let him stop the stirring. It was most important to let the ingredients mix thoroughly. “Is your glorious hero capable of some thinking?”

  Her eyes flashed at him, not frightened or lost anymore. “He is capable of many things, Brother!”

  More ardent murmuring. What a foul ring their strange-sounding words had!

  “He will take him away, sleeping or not.”

  “Where to?”

  A flicker of wariness passed through her eyes, too obvious to miss. “I don’t know.”

  “Of course you don’t.” He tried to choke the venom back. Why was he so angry with her? “He can’t go before the ointment is ready. Conscious or not, this man’s wound needs to be dressed. He can’t be dragged around the way it is gaping now. If not cared for properly and covered, it’ll rot even faster than before, whether my treatment helped or not.”

  She sucked in her breath before turning to her companion, whose gaze was boring at him, as though understanding the exchange. More urgent whispering followed. He stood the intensity of the dark eyes, their glow unsettling, the silhouette of the wolf upon the sharp cheek threatening.

  “How long before the ointment is ready?” Her voice broke the staring contest, welcome this time.

  “Not long.” A shrug helped to banish the fluttering sensation in his stomach. “But they can’t wait even that long.” He motioned toward the gap between the cliffs, indicating the thickening darkness. The moon was fading. The night was going away.

  She drew another convulsive breath. “Then what…”

  The foreigner was talking again. They both turned to listen.

  “He asks if we can’t use it, the ointment, as it is now.”

  “No, we can’t.”

  He could feel their frustration coming out in waves. There was no need to see it in their faces. The dying fire did not give enough light, not anymore. Reaching for one of the longer branches, he sighed. Compassion was a good thing, everyone said it, but sometimes it came in the worst of timings.

  “Stir it.” He pushed the pot into her hands, refusing to meet her gaze, feeding the fire instead. “Maybe we’ll have enough time. Our people might not be heading straightaway here. Maybe he’ll be able to drag his friend into the woods. If he crosses the river, he might be able to hide there in the hills for some time.”

  “He can’t. He needs to reach the river. The canoe…” The way she choked on her own words was almost funny.

  He wanted to laugh but in no merry way. “Oh, so he does have a canoe hidden somewhere around, eh? That’s why he was throwing stones!”

  Kentika’s eyes refused to leave the ground, but as the foreigner began talking sharply, a question in his voice, her lips pressed tight.

  “What did he say?” Again, it was difficult to stand the piercing gaze of the man that bore at him instead of her.

  She answered with a petulant shrug, but her eyes jumped up when they both burst out talking, overriding each other. The foreigner’s eyes blazed.

  “Stop it, both of you!”

  They paused for a heartbeat, but their eyes did not leave each other’s face, trying to read, to predict one another’s reaction.

  “Stop yelling,” she repeated, adding a phrase in the foreign tongue, repeating the same, as it seemed. “It’s not, not the place to argue.” He felt her eyes resting on him. “He wants to know why you are so angry with me. He says this entire happening has nothing to do with me. What happened is not my fault, he says.”

  The warrior’s glare was burning holes in his skin.

  “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with him and his people, dead or alive. I’m angry with this entire situation. I’m angry with the burned houses of our village, and the arrows that pierced our people or made them burn. I’m angry with Schikan’s broken ribs. I’m angry with the fact that I’m stuck here, on this shore, forced to help the despicable enemy.” Running out of breath, he stopped momentarily. “These are the things that make me furious. The fact that my little sister is helping the enemy behind our people’s back is not the most prominent among any of these. A despicable deed in itself, yes, but for now, more important things make me angry.” He watched her face darkening with defiance. “Tell him what I said. He asked a question, and he deserves the answer.”

  For a heartbeat, it looked as though she was going to argue. Then she turned away and began speaking slowly, in a halting manner. What she said made the foreigner’s face close up in a way that promised no good.

  “He says it’s not that simple,” she answered, chewing her lower lip in a familiar way. She always did it when not sure of herself.

  “Tell him it looks simple enough from where I stand.” The bowl was cooling rapidly in his hands, but he didn’t notice, not frightened for the first time in his life but enjoying the sensation of saying whatever he wanted with no consideration for the consequences. He was always thinking too much. But not anymore. “Tell him there is nothing complicated about it. Tell him his people came to rob and kill. It is that simple.”

  “Our people raid their villages too. Sometimes.”

  “No, they do not! When did you see our hunters, people of our village, going up their Great River, eh? Can you remember it happening, ever? No, you can’t. Because it didn’t.”

  “But other settlements… Skootuck!” Her eyes flashed triumphantly. “They send war parties against the other river’s current. They do. Neewe was a captive.”

  “We are not responsible for what they do in Skootuck.”

  Forgetting about the warrior, he almost jumped as the man moved all of a sudden, crossing the cramped-up space in this long, forceful stride of his.

  His heart leaping up into his throat, Migisso just watched, knowing that he was done for, now for sure. The treacherous enemy was going to kill him. He was of no more use anyway, and he did awaken the beast by arguing. Oh, Benevolent Glooskap!

  Unable to move, to try to get up in order to defend himself, maybe, he watched the wide shoulders bearing down on him, the rough palms snatching the bowl out of his hand
s, cooling and forgotten.

  He didn’t dare to breathe a few more heartbeats after the man backed away, striding toward his wounded friend, squatting beside him, the bowl pressed between his knees, the hand with the stick moving monotonously, in dull circles.

  Their voices rang as dully, as though coming through a light mist. He shook his head to make it work.

  “For how long will he have to stir it?” she asked after they finished. “Do we put it back on the fire?”

  Migisso tried to get a grip of his senses. Did they notice his fright? With every fiber of his being, he hoped they did not.

  “You stir it for some time. Then yes, we put it back on fire, but not to let it boil, just to warm it.” He cleared his throat. “It has to be perfectly smooth when it’s time to put it back on fire.” Unable as yet to meet the foreigner’s glare, he pursed his lips. “Tell him to stir it less vigorously. He doesn’t need to turn the entire thing into a mass of bubbles.”

  She gave him a reproachful look, before talking to the warrior again. What she said caused the tightly pressed lips to twist into the hint of a grin. The man’s voice rang dimly, barely penetrating the gathering darkness, and the fire was dying along with the moon.

  “He asked me to say that he is grateful for what you did.” Kentika’s voice also lacked her previous agitation. “Whatever you think of him and his people, he says that what you did for his friend is a true kindness, whether he lives or dies now. He says he will never forget. Not even when in the World of the Spirits.”

  He tried to suppress the welling in his chest, that unwelcome wave of compassion again. “Do they know about the World of the Spirits?”

  “He used different words, but I think he meant Glooskap’s world of the spirits, yes.” She shook her head resolutely. “I’ll be going now.”

  “Where to?”

  The warrior looked up as well, as though understanding what she said. Paying them both no attention, she smoothed her dress, frowning at the fluttering fringes, where it was cut carelessly earlier through the night. “Mother will kill me for this,” she muttered.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home.” Another vigorous brush against the stiff, mud-covered material. It was difficult to imagine that this dress might have looked pretty once upon a time.

  “Won’t you wait for me?”

  “No.” More fiddling with the fringes. Her gaze kept avoiding his. “Please stay. You promised.”

  “He won’t need me after the ointment is ready.” Helplessly, he looked at the wounded, still an inanimate form, his inner being there but faded, unclear, undecided whether to stay or not. “Why don’t you wait?”

  “It won’t be ready in time.” Now her gaze met his, determined, unafraid.

  What do you mean? he wanted to ask, but her eyes did not let him escape into evasiveness.

  “No, it won’t.”

  She nodded, then gestured the warrior to wait as he was talking again, addressing her, an urgency to his voice.

  “I’ll try to prevent our people from coming here. You will have enough time. I’ll make them look elsewhere.” The creases that crossed her forehead stretched deep. “Promise to stay as long as they need you.”

  The lump in the pit of his stomach became heavier. Against his will, he held her gaze, wishing to look anywhere but into the defiant glow of her eyes. His little sister, the sweet, wild thing that he had loved since the first moment he had seen her, a squirming little bundle his mother brought from the birthing lodge when he had seen but four or five cold seasons. Now almost as tall as he was, inappropriately strong for a woman, inappropriately opinionated, inappropriately everything, with her spirit so unruly it could not be tolerated in even a warrior, she was still a girl to him, a little sister. But not anymore.

  Suddenly, he knew why he had been angry with her. Not because she had helped the enemy, the ferocious warrior with the terrifying temper and an evil tattoo upon his face. That might be understandable, somehow. She wanted to help. She was always the kindest of persons.

  No, that was not what made him wish to break something, to scream at her and accuse her of all sorts of crimes. Her way of looking at the foreigner, her way of taking his side in every argument, the obvious trust she put in the terrible man did this. Her heart had made her act, and not her mind. She had made her choice, at long last. Even if she herself might not realize that as yet.

  “You will try to mislead our people,” he said tiredly, making it a statement, anticipating a wave of rage, feeling nothing. There was only sadness, the all-encompassing exhaustion. Nothing else. “How will you do this?”

  “I’ll think of something.” Eagerly, she turned back to her warrior, her eyes taking on an additional glow. What she said made the man argue, but not overly so. His gaze was glued to her, his smile shining, a knowing, surprisingly soft, comfortable smile that she answered with a shy half-twisted grin. It made Migisso’s anger soar, an odd person in the coziness of their night. It made him wish to turn around and leave. They wouldn’t have noticed if he did, he knew.

  “I’ll be going now,” she said after a long while and much talking in a foreign tongue, her eyes brushing past him again, not seeing him, not for real. Her mind was already away, examining the problem, preparing her explanations, concocting lies.

  He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t stay, that he wouldn’t take care of her lover in trouble, but she was already gone, her briskly moving silhouette disappearing behind the bushes.

  He turned away, avoiding the warrior’s gaze.

  Chapter 20

  The dense mist filled the enclosure, flowing in slowly, hesitantly, giving no hope. Shivering with cold, Okwaho hugged his knees, tired beyond measure.

  The fire was dying, but he didn’t try to bring it back to life, not this time. It was of no use to them anymore. The brew had boiled and was cooling off now, but there was no one to consume it, with Akweks still lying lifeless, still wandering other worlds.

  Even when the healer spread a generous amount of ointment upon the frighteningly gaping wound, their patient didn’t even stir, no matter how thoroughly it was rubbed into every corner of the bloodied mess. Which was a bad sign, of course. His friend’s spirit was determined to stay where it was, about to remain there indefinitely, the bleak gaze of the annoying healer told him, with no need to utter a word of their foul-sounding tongue.

  How frustrating! He could not even kill the irritating skunk for his brassiness and bad manners. Her brother, of all things. He owed them both too much not to try to hang on to his temper, no matter how provoking the hate-filled gazes of the man were.

  What do you do? he asked himself, forcing his hands to unlock their grip on his folded legs, wishing nothing more than to curl up right where he sat and sleep for all eternity. To leave the troublesome place, even if by the way Akweks did, and the rest of their people, aside from those who had sailed on.

  The thought of the other warriors’ force helped. They would be back. Sometime, they would have to return, victorious probably, up to this or that measure of success, passing through these shores, seeking them, the remaining warriors. All dead. Everyone! Would they wonder?

  “I’ll try to wake him up again. Can’t wait here for an entire span of seasons.”

  Getting up to his feet helped. His body might have been exhausted beyond its limits, but his mind needed to do something, anything. Even the short walk toward Akweks and the healer helped.

  The wariness of his unwanted companion increased. As he squatted beside them, he could see a wave of fear washing across the broad features. What a forest mouse! He didn’t even look like her, aside from the broadness of his face. His eyes were not large and not widely spaced in a curious manner, and they held nothing but resentment and fear. How such a timid creature could claim family ties to her he didn’t understand. But maybe it was just a figure of speech. Maybe she called the young healer by this title as a respectable address. Why didn’t she stay instead of this one?
br />   “Try to wake him up. Make him drink.” He reinforced his words with appropriate gesturing. “No time. Have to go.”

  The man’s hands flew up in a helpless manner.

  “Eyes. You looked into his eyes before. What did you see? Can you look into his eyes again?” More vigorous gesturing.

  This time, the man frowned, but nodded and complied. Leaning alongside, his stomach twisting with fright, Okwaho peeked into the frightening whiteness as his friend’s eyes were forced open, the dark orbs peeking from their edges blankly, with no life in them. He backed away before able to control himself. Oh, but it was hopeless! He wanted to break something.

  The healer was still immersed in his study of Akweks’ eyes, his posture more confident, somehow. When he pulled at the other closed eyelid, Okwaho had to fight the urge to push the man away. It was as though the nosy healer were trying to peek into his dying friend’s dreams.

  He listened to the flow of unfamiliar words.

  “What?”

  The man motioned toward the bark that contained the excess of their water, or what was left of it, pulling the dried-up piece of cloth off the wounded’s forehead. Dipping it in the last of the murky liquid, he sprinkled Akweks’ face, then tried to moisten the cracked lips.

  Okwaho held his breath, sick with expectation. The man had done this before, several times, but now something was different, something about the healer’s reactions, if not his patient or the surroundings.

  Excited muttering of unfamiliar words preceded the shuddering of Akweks’ body, the slight movement of a palm, only a finger really, but it was a movement.

  “He is waking up!”

  The healer held his hand up, demanding silence. Okwaho clenched his teeth tight. Desperate to contain his impatience, he listened to the vigorous chirping of early birds, trying to read their message. Was it all quiet out there? No wandering people?

  She promised to make them look elsewhere. She was confident she could do it, especially when he told her about the body of the man who had drowned in the river, and its whereabouts. She grew all excited with his suggestion of luring them out there and away from here using this pretext. It should give him and Akweks enough time.